


The Weight of the World

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Background Westallen, Gen, Iris is not Ok, Scott is a Good Boss, during the hiatus, sorry - Freeform, this is a sad story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 01:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: Iris has spent the last several months fearing her impending death, or trying to keep the city safe with only half the people that Star Labs used to have, all while mourning the love of her life. Oh, and she's got to go to work every day and pretend she's doing fine.Something's got to give.





	The Weight of the World

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed that Iris didn’t seem to be at CCPN at all in the premiere (unless I missed a throwaway line, in which case this is pure AU), so this popped into my head, of course. I really hope we see her there again because she’s great at it, and I also loved that she had the ability to view things from a different perspective than Star Labs. We’ll see, I guess. Anyway. Angst.

“This isn’t a disciplinary meeting, Iris,” Scott said.

She stared at him across the table. CCPN’s human resources rep sat between them, looking bland and nonjudgmental. She’d introduced herself as Cassidy, a weirdly perky name under the circumstances.

“Okay,” Iris said.

“I’m concerned,” Scott said. “About you. You’ve been missing a lot of deadlines, and what you’ve have turned in lately has been - ” He paused. The slash slash slash of his red pen over all her most recent stories echoed in her ears. “Not up to your usual standards.”

She looked at her hands in her lap. Her nail polish was chipped to hell.

“You’ve been taking a lot of sick days. Coming in late, going home early, disappearing in the middle of the day, and nobody can reach you.”

“Yes,” Iris said. “I mean. No.” What did she mean?

“I get that you probably miss your fiance pretty badly.” To Cassidy, Scott explained, “He’s on sabbatical.” His eyes slid around to Iris. “In the … Czech Republic.”

Had that been a note of skepticism in his voice? Iris’s eyes narrowed.

It was a dumb story but she’d gone along with it, for her dad’s sake. Even though it made everything that much worse when somebody asked her at the coffee station how Barry was doing in Europe, if she’d heard from him lately or if he’d sent her any cute souvenirs.

_Not from where he is,_ Iris thought, and looked back down at her hands. God. Her thumb was especially bad. She’d never let it get this bad before.

She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“The thing is,” Scott said, “I’m worried. You don’t seem like yourself. Not since - ” he paused, brow furrowing. “Oh, I’d say, January or so.  Is there something else going on in your life?”

Was there something else going on in her life?

She’d spent five months thinking she was going to die, and then two more in so far over her head she felt like she was constantly drowning. Barry was gone into the Speed Force to keep it from breaking open like the multiverse’s worst egg. She was trying to hold the city together, doing with two cocky, still-learning superheroes what had required a fleet of people and a skilled hero before.

_Was there something else going on._

Scott said, “Iris, are you - ”

Cassidy said quickly, “What he means to say, Ms. West - ”

West-Allen. My name is Iris West-Allen.

“- is that if you have a health issue, or a family issue - which you are under no legal obligation to disclose - CCPN can make accommodations. Again, this is entirely your choice about what or how much you want to tell us.”

“I - ” Iris said.

“Is there something going on?” Scott asked.

“I … I lost … somebody,” she said slowly. “A couple of months ago.”

“The guy who died in May?” Scott asked.

Iris’s heart did a sort of lurch and twist and belly flop - _died, he didn’t die, he’s just not in this dimension anymore_ \- before she realized he meant HR. Right, Scott had approved her time off for the funeral. Fine, let him think that.

“Yes. And … and it’s gotten to me more than I thought it would.”

True, it had shaken her badly, seeing HR die in her place, murdered by someone with the face of the man she loved, sent there by someone else with the face of a friend.

But it was wholly overshadowed by losing Barry. Her best friend, her love, the other half of herself. Gone, and she couldn’t even be angry because he’d done it to save everybody.

(No, she could be angry. She could be angry a _lot._ )

Cassidy opened a folder, revealing official-looking paperwork. “Unfortunately our policies don’t cover bereavement leave for non-family members. I’m sorry. However, if you were to get a diagnosis of clinical depression or PTSD stemming from the event, we could still put in for FMLA. It safeguards you against - ”

“I know what FMLA does,” Iris said. “It’s not going to be enough.”

Her words landed with a splat in the middle of the table.

Because honestly? Yes. She probably could get a diagnosis for either or both those things, if she actually found a doctor that she could be one hundred percent honest with, but it didn’t matter. A few days off here and there, or even an extended leave of absence, wasn’t going to be enough.

She’d burned through a lot of sick and vacation already, since May. At best, she could take a couple of weeks of paid leave, and then maybe a few more unpaid. FMLA status just meant they couldn’t fire her for excessive absences, not that she magically got more time on the books.

And after that leave time was up, Barry would still be gone, and she would still be fighting.

She’d thought she’d could keep going just like she was. Keep running, keep living her life. But her shoulders strained under the weight of the whole city, millions of people’s safety, and holding it up alongside going to CCPN and pretending everything was still okay -

She felt like she was being crushed further into the ground with every passing day.

Sometimes she hated Caitlin for taking off to find herself, or whatever the hell the other woman was doing while being so flagrantly _not here_. Sometimes she hated Caitlin for leaving first, because it meant that Iris didn’t have that option.

“Iris,” Scott said. “Don’t - ”

“I quit,” she said.

“ - do anything hasty,” he finished.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t do this job anymore.”

Cassidy closed the folder. “Okay,” she said, and opened another one. “So. We’ll need a written letter of resignation, ideally with two weeks’ notice.”

“How much leave do I have left?” Iris asked.

“Okay,” Scott said. “Wait. I know it feels like - ”

Cassidy consulted something. “You have sixteen hours sick time, and seventy-five hours of vacation. That works out to a little over two weeks, combined.”

“Can I take those starting now and submit my resignation for the end of that time?”

Cassidy’s eyes softened for the first time, looking more human and less like a corporate machine. “Yeah. I think under the circumstances, we can make an exception.” She made a note to herself. “You’ll also need to remove all personal property from your desk, any personal files from your computer, and turn in your badge and any building or office keys to me before you leave today.”

“Wait,” Scott said. “Wait, wait. Iris. You’re having a tough time. I can see it. I’ve been seeing it since January. But don’t do anything you’ll regret, okay? You’re an excellent reporter. Don’t just throw that out. Why don’t you take the two weeks, and then make up your mind?”

“Scott - ” Iris said.

“We’ll take your resignation, but we just won’t file it or something.” He raised his brows at Cassidy. “Right? We can do that. We’ll hold it until you let us know in a couple of weeks. What about that?”

“Nothing’s going to change.”

“I get that it feels like that now,” he wheedled, “but you’d be surprised how some time away can clear your - ”

“Scott,” Iris said, looking him dead in the eye. “Nothing’s going to change.”

Scott, who’d heard that note of firmness in her voice before, sagged with defeat.

Iris got to her feet. “Okay,” she said, mostly to Cassidy. “Letter, removal of personal property, badge and keys. Right?”

“That’s everything I need,” Cassidy said.

“Okay. Scott?”

He looked up at her, his eyes sad. In a heavy voice, he said, “I’ll need all your notes on current stories, and any rough drafts, so I can assign them out to other reporters.“

Iris nodded and looked at the clock. It was barely one. She was supposed to take her lunch. She decided not to. She had a lot to do this afternoon and she wasn’t hungry anyway.

She was never hungry anymore.

"I hope things improve for you, Ms. West,” Cassidy said, shuffling her folders together and getting up.

“Thanks,” Iris said. _West-Allen, God!_

But that wasn’t her name. That wasn’t ever going to be her name.

Scott stood. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “This wasn’t the way I was hoping this would go.”

“I know,” Iris said.

“Even at half-power, you’re a better reporter than people who’ve been doing this for decades,” Scott said. “We’ll hire you back anytime.”

Cassidy made a strangled noise, visions of lawsuits no doubt dancing in her head. Iris could have told her not to worry. She didn’t see herself coming back, much less kicking up a fuss if she didn’t get the promised job.

She was grateful for the walls of her cubicle, which hid the activity of pulling out drawers and putting things into a storage box to take home. She pulled several folders out, flipping through them, printing out preliminary notes and rough drafts from her computer. She would give these to Scott. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that none of them were as far along as they should be.

A few times, when other reporters spotted what she was doing, she had to stop and explain, and endure their exclamations and wheedling. Like Scott, they seemed to think that she really just needed a vacation to regain her edge, her drive, her verve.

But her life since January had ground edge, drive, verve down like a belt sander. No vacation was going to restore her. Only one thing could do that.

They went away and whispered to the other reporters, and she could feel the news spreading, like dye in water. A few more people came over and expressed regret or surprise, giving her their phone numbers or personal emails. She took them although she had no intention of getting in touch.

It should have reassured her that she hadn’t burned all her bridges with her flakiness lately, but it felt even worse. More people she was disappointing.

Some people were less kind. They said the same things as the others, but there was a sub-layer of malice and insincerity. Some didn’t say anything to her at all. The top of the heap wasn’t always the best place to be.

Iris found that she was fine with both.

She found her “weird file,” where she saved any mention of anything strange or off-kilter just in case it played out later. Although it was intended for CCPN stories, she felt no qualms over sending it to her personal stick drive. She also saved as many contacts as she could. She was losing access to a lot of murmurs and mutters and overheard conversations that got delivered to Star Labs as well as being written up for CCPN’s pages. She was going to have to keep up somehow.

When the clock hit four-thirty, her desk was neat and bare, all the folders dropped off in Scott’s empty office. She typed up an email to Scott and Cassidy, a formal resignation in two or three lines that cited “personal reasons” without going into further detail. She tapped out another quick email to the whole newsroom - “personal reasons” again - and adding a thank-you for the work she’d done with them. It felt stiff and rote, overly formal without any warmth or sincerity behind it. But she couldn’t work out how to do it better.

As she hit send on the email, restarted her computer for the last time, and picked up her box of personal effects, she felt part of the weight easing off her shoulders. For a moment, she wondered if she’d done the right thing.

But no. The Iris West who’d been happy, fulfilled, and productive here wasn’t her anymore. That was an old life, one with Barry in it, one without the crushing weight of running Star Labs and keeping Central City safe. She didn’t belong here anymore.

Maybe one day, she could again.

Maybe one day she might be happy again.

Maybe one day.

FINIS


End file.
